


The Way the Cheeto Crumbles

by Demedicis



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, this is borderline crack im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demedicis/pseuds/Demedicis
Summary: A stranger steals what Jongin holds most dear: The last bag of Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno Cheetos.





	The Way the Cheeto Crumbles

**Author's Note:**

> hello op! i really wanted this fic to be a lot longer bcuz im sure that's what you had in mind for this amazing prompt. finals season has left me a mess and allergic to deadlines, so i hope you can still enjoy this shorter piece! thank you to the mods for hosting this fest and being so understanding with their writers. best wishes for 2018 everyone!!

There are three (3) [III] things that Jongin cannot live without. These are the things he'd never sacrifice to the volcano in order to prevent the sixth worldwide extinction event. The three things he'd take to a deserted island, whether they aided in his survival or not. The three things Jongin values above all else, and (if he had any sort of combat training) would fight to the death for.

This list includes, in no particular order:

1\. His mom (moms count right? Jongin is 100% sure he’d die in a week if his mom ever cut off contact. She’s banned him from calling her more often than once a week, which forces him to look for solutions elsewhere, but at the end of the day she’s still his most important person).

2\. His dogs (there may be three of them, but they're ranked as one singular item, because they’re a package deal and he would never be so biased as to choose one over another.)

3\. Cheetos. Not just any Cheetos, Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno™ Cheetos.

Yes, that's right, he can't live without a bag of Cheetos. Not everyday, because that would mean ingesting toxic amounts of sodium and fueling the dangerous potential for Jongin to grow tired of his favourite treat. No, the cheesy delights that occupy his thoughts whenever he's hungry, they are _not_ to be eaten carelessly. Their curative powers must be used only exclusively, in times of need.

Like right now. Jongin's just finished a shift at work and the exhaustion is bone-deep. It wasn't even _his_ dance class that he was teaching this afternoon, it was Taemin's. His friend had needed a sub and Jongin had been willing to fill in, mostly because he can’t say no to extra cash. In this economy, rent doesn't pay itself (well, it kind of does since he has the transfer set up online but... _oh well_.)

Only now does he realize that had been a terrible idea, because he can barely keep his eyes open as he walks home from the studio.

There's a continuous pain shooting up through his back that he really should do something about, and it's times like these that have Jongin sliding into the nearest 7-Eleven to score himself a healthy bag of artificial cheesy goodness.

The blinking lights in the store blind him, because his eyes are having trouble adjusting, used to the dark outside curtesy of the late hour. He briefly assesses the prices of the on-sale beer, before he remembers that his roommate is a beer snob and won't let anything into the apartment that has a reputation for tasting like piss. Besides, he's only carrying a few quarters in his pocket; there's better uses for his money than cheap alcohol at the moment.

Once Jongin turns into the snack aisle he realizes he's not alone. Someone else is crouched down, surveying the shelves. He grabs a bag of something, and Jongin immediately recognizes it as his favourite flavour of Cheetos. Jongin nods to himself. Good choice. The guy tucks the bag under his arm and heads to the cash.

Jongin steps into the aisle, going for the same snack, when he realizes he's been robbed--that was the last bag of Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno™.

Frantically, Jongin checks behind every other item on the shelf, hoping there's a second one hiding somewhere. He drops to his knees, too distraught to mind the floor tiles under his bare knees, and that the security cameras have a perfect view of his (completely rational) search.

He lets out the longest pained sigh, eyeing the empty space where _his_ Cheetos should be. The empty space stares back, mockingly, and Jongin knows, that if they could, the other bags of chips would be laughing at him. He pushes back to his feet: Jongin refuses to be bullied by food.

Acceptance is an important stage in the mourning process, so he grabs a can of cola from the cooler instead, as a sad 40g of sugar substitute. It's not like he can go home empty handed now, not when his back aches and he feels like he’s been kissed by a dementor. It's barely 9pm, but he's ready to hit the sack for about 48 hours. He has another shift tomorrow as well, but at least it's just his regular class, and he doesn't have to worry about being out of his comfort zone.

He pays for his drink at the cash and gets ready for the walk home. The convenience store is halfway between home and the studio, so he only has ten minutes left of his commute. He gives his calves a quick prep talk, and pushes open the door to step outside.

He passes someone unlocking their bike from a street post. Jongin's only mildly embarrassed that he recognizes the Cheetos packaging before the person them self. It the same guy, the thief who stole the last bag. In the dark, Jongin glares at him. He has the bag resting in his pink bike basket, lit perfectly under the street light, lit _tauntingly_. 

The guy is unfazed by the daggers Jongin's glaring into his back. He frees his bike and swings one leg over. He's sporting the strangest streaks of red in his dark hair, proof of a really bad self-dye job or a drunken dare, and Jongin's not sure if he's seeing things right, since his glasses are of an old prescription, but he looks like he has a mullet of all styles. Definitely a dare.

The guy takes off, ridiculous hair on full display since he doesn't seem to have a helmet. He disappears down the street, and Jongin wishes _he_ had thought of biking to work. It makes his thief even more detestable. Nighttime walks are refreshing, but so is getting home in five minutes.

When Jongin does get home, eventually, he cracks open his soda can and toes off his shoes. He wiggles is bare feet on the entrance mat, attempting to ease the ache in them from dancing all day. It doesn't really work, but he can always leave that to a good night’s rest.

"How was work?" His roommate calls from over the back of the couch.

Jongin offers him a groan in response. He drapes his body over the back of the couch, becoming one with the cushion.

Junmyeon laughs, bright and sincere. "That bad, huh?"

Jongin groans a second time, louder. At least once the fall semester starts he'll be in class instead of teaching class, not that sitting is any better for his back pain.

"Oh, hey, Jongin," comes a voice from the kitchen, "do you want some tea? I just boiled water for Jun and I." It's Minseok, their unofficial third roommate, and Junmyeon's suspiciously perfect boyfriend. His only apparent flaw is that he never spends time at his own place. Jongin's tried to scare him away with dirty dishes and clothes strewn everywhere, but it's never has much effect. Probably because no mess can rival Junmyeon's, anyways.

"No thanks, I have soda," he replies, taking a sip of said carbonated beverage, enjoying the fuzziness. Yup, carbonation really does make everything better--except water.

"Suit yourself," Minseok says, disappearing back into the kitchen.

" _Jongin._ "

He roommate's voice catches his attention. He sounds disappointed.

"Yes, Hyung?" He braces himself.

“Why are you drinking a soft drink at 10PM? There’s so much caffeine and sugar in that thing; how are you going to fall asleep?”

Jongin rolls his eyes, pushing his face into the cushion so Junmyeon thankfully can’t see him. Junmyeon thinks he can speak about health, now that he’s on some vegan-arugula-juice cleanse diet or something. He’s only following it in the first place because his boyfriend is a nutrition nut (though Jongin must admit, some of Minseok’s smoothies are pretty delicious—damn, he really is a man without fault.)

Minseok chooses to re-enter the Livingroom, holding two mugs of tea, “come on, Jun, Jongin’s a big boy, he can indulge in a soda.”

Junmyeon frowns, and Jongin stick his tongue out at him. “I like your boyfriend better than you, Hyung; maybe you can move out and he can move in.”

“At least you’d be eating healthier that way,” Junmyeon concedes, “I don’t think Minseok-Hyung has ever drunk soda in his life.”

“Actually, I’ve drunk many sodas; you should have seen what I looked like in middle school. There’s a reason I eat well these days, you know,” Minseok interjects, placing the mugs on the coffee table and collapsing back into the empty space on the couch beside his boyfriend.

“I bet you looked cute,” Junmyeon coos, pinching Minseok’s cheek teasingly, but his expression is disgustingly fond.

Jongin takes that as his cue to leave them alone.

He retreats back into his own bedroom. It’s small, and all his furniture is kind of cramped, but it’s better than what Jongin could afford if his roommate wasn’t footing 2/3 of the rent (under the pretense that his poor habits deserve compensation even if both tenants know its because Jongin doesn’t have the money).

He doesn’t sleep that night until past 2PM. His back aches, and he wastes time with catching up on Manhwa updates, and his stomach protests the sugar from the coke. He really should have bought Cheetos instead.  
\--  
The first day of classes is a beautiful day, with not a cloud to be seen and sun nearly hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Nature is cruel, especially when half the university's classrooms don't have air conditioning and Jongin is constantly fearful of sweating a wet patch in the ass of his jeans. Maybe he should consider wearing black until the weather cools down a bit.

It only takes 30 minutes of his first lecture for Jongin's brain to slip into its usual state of boredom. He taps his foot to an imaginary rhythm under the desk, and fidgets with his pencil. Only one year left in this torturous place, and then he’ll be done with business school forever.

He meets up with Sehun in between classes, who's sporting a pair of sunglasses so dark no light passes through, and keeps them on even though they’re sitting indoors. Jongin's best guess is a hangover, but knowing Sehun, things aren't always so obvious.

When his last lecture finally lets out, Jongin feels drained on practically every level. The only motivation to get home is his bed, nice and warm, and waiting for his return. The spitting image of Odysseus’s Penelope, Jongin has never known a more loyal friend than his bed.

He does have to get on the bus though, so he flashes his overpriced bus pass and climbs into a seat near the back. The only part worse than waiting for the bus is getting off, only because it means walking.

Jongin barely has time, however, to think about home, when a speeding blur passes right by him, an inch away from grazing his arm. It's cyclist, and Jongin clutches his hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat loudly after the scare.

That's just what he needs, after the first day back, to be hit by a bike at full speed. The hospital bills would suck months of rent from his bank account, but…maybe if he sued the guy, he could get those bills and maybe even his tuition taken care of. On second thought, too bad the accident had merely been a close call.

Speaking of the particular cyclist in question, Jongin realizes the bike has stopped, and the guy has turned around. The first thing Jongin notices is an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt, only half buttoned up, and a pair of denim shorts rolled high enough to reveal a few inches above the knee (and if Jongin is honest the thighs aren't half bad; looks like the bike gets a lot of mileage).

"Wow, sorry, my bad!" The guy calls, giving Jongin a look that's a mix between worry and amusement, like he feels guilty for almost running him over, but also amused at Jongin's slightly exaggerated reaction.

"It's okay," Jongin manages to wheeze out. The danger is over, so he forces himself to relax, and drops his hand to his side. His body and (unfortunately) his student loans are safe for another day.

"Great!" The guy calls, breaking into a sweet but short smile as he turns his body forwards and cycles off, turning around the corner and out of sight. Whoever they were, they hadn't been wearing any helmet, and their hair was dark with streaks of what was almost firetruck red--

 _Oh, no_. The familiar (atrocious) head of hair! The same pink bike basket! Even the guy's smile sparked familiarity. That had been been Jongin's Cheetos thief from the other week.

So not only had the guy crushed Jongin's spirit by taking the last bag, but nearly knocked him to the pavement. If Jongin were a super villain, he'd already be dedicating himself to a life crime, fuelled by revenge, and claiming the cyclist as his arch nemesis.

But, Jongin is a bit more rational than that, so he pretends the whole thing never happened and just keeps walking, mostly because the encounter reminds him to pick up some Cheetos on the way home, and he’s a very motivated walker when food is involved. Besides, its his first day back, he deserves a treat.  
***  
God, whoever they are, must be some superstitious believer in the phrase _third time’s the charm_ , because the next time he ducks into the local convenience store, Jongin spots the same stranger at the cash. Honestly, Jongin’s not even sure how he recognizes him, because his hair is tucked under a baseball cap, and the few strands poking out are bleached blond. It must be his oversized denim vest, decorated with way too many patches, that could only come from the same closet as the hideous Hawaiian shirt from the last encounter. That, or from his view of the guy’s profile, Jongin recognizes his features; you don’t forget the face of the man who nearly runs you over. The most obvious hint, though, is that along with the pack of gum that the cashier is scanning robotically is a bag of Cheetos Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno™.

Jongin quickly shuffles to the snacks aisle, scared of history repeating itself. To his relief, there’s a few bags left of his favourite flavour. He grabs two of them this time; he has to start building his own reserve at home, in case he’s robbed again, or if the apocalypse strikes and the journey to 7-Eleven puts him at high risk of becoming a zombie’s dinner.

He’s a quarter short but the cashier lets it slide, and Jongin shoves the bill and the snacks into his school bag as fast as possible. Jongin is awful at remembering faces, but he’s sure all the cashiers here must be judging him for the amount of times he’s come in to order specifically the same flavour of Cheetos. Maybe he should spice it up a bit next time, and go for Doritos or something instead, throw them off his scent. Or maybe he should stop buying so much junk, before he’s seriously injured, and the doctors can’t do a blood transfusion because no potential donors have as high a concentration of artificial cheese in their bloodstream as he does. That would be an extremely embarrassing death.

Outside, it’s not quite dark yet. Jongin got off a bus stop early to pick up his snacks, and he knows he only has a month left of warm weather before the walk back becomes more painful than tedious. The days grow shorter and colder as the semester gets harder, which Jongin firmly believes to be a perfect correlation.

Down the sidewalk, Jongin’s not surprised to see that his Cheetos thief hasn’t yet rode into the distance. He’s stopped at a stop sign as a car turns out onto the street. Really, what kind of guy not only steals the last bag of chips, but nearly knocks his skull open? This neighbourhood ain’t big enough for the both of them.

Jongin mutters a curse under his breath—this is not his ordinary grudge—just as the he guy takes off on his bike. Not three seconds later the bike veers to the left and the cyclist cries out just as him and his bike tumble to the ground with a loud crash.

He knows he could keep walking; he’s ten minutes from home, tired after another long day of existing. He could easily flee into the night and let now-blonde thief fend for himself.

But, in the end, Jongin gives in to his conscience’s pleas, and jogs over to help the stranger.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he approaches, surveying the damage.

The bike is splayed sideways, wheels still turning, and it looks like a small but suspiciously deep pothole in the road is the culprit.

As for the guy—well, he’s in the process of picking himself up from the fall. He gets up onto his knees and turns his palms upwards to reveal scratched skin, a painful mixture of blood and gravel. Jongin winces.

The stranger doesn’t reply to Jongin’s question, but he does begin to cry. Fat tears well in his eyes, and a quiet sob is wretched through his throat.

“Holy shit!” Jongin gasps, “do you need me to call 911? Did you hit your head? Shit!” he panics, and lowers himself to stare at the other’s face. He remembers Junmyeon saying something once about uneven pupils and concussions after Chanyeol hit his head rollerblading down the stairs on campus a few years back.

The stranger shakes his head, eyes glued shut, which makes it kind of difficult for Jongin to inspect his pupils, and gestures to the bike.

Jongin assesses it, looking for a sign of breakage. “your bike looks fine to me.” Sure, it shows serious wear, indicating that it must nearly as old as its owner, but that’s unrelated to any potential pothole-damage.

“No! not the bike!” the stranger wails in a hoarse voice, pushing past Jongin to reach for his means of transport. He picks something up off the asphalt and holds it in his injured hands.

Jongin blinks in recognition at the object.

“My Cheetos…” the boy bemoans, holding the bag like one would cradle a dying comrade, shot down on the front lines. His bike clearly crushed the chips when it fell, and the force has popped it open. A few squashed chip-remains litter the street, signs of a fallen soldier.

Gently, Jongin takes the bag from the other and peers inside. Completely crushed. It’s a bag of Cheetos dust now. Jongin mourns briefly. Fate is cruel, and karma is real.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jongin mutters dumbly. He doesn’t know what to do with the ruined bag, so he places it back on the ground. If Jongin were alone, he might have been tempted to pour the crushed Cheetos into his mouth—the burial they deserve.

When Jongin remembers to tear his focus away from the bag and back onto the stranger, he seems to have stopped crying. The boy wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeves, sniffling loudly in contrast with the quiet of the street. Maybe he’s had a hard day, Jongin reasons—though it could just be the Cheetos—and maybe falling off his bike had been the last straw. In any case, he doesn’t make to stand up again, and Jongin nervously worries his teeth against his bottom lip in consideration.

“if you want—I mean, I just happened to buy two bags of the same flavour,” he begins. _No, Jongin! That bag is for cold winter nights, for 3am with an exam the next morning at 8! Don’t squander your riches!_ The less-of-an-asshole voice in his head wins out, however. “you can take one of my bags with you.”

The guy blinks up at Jongin for a moment. He seems to shake himself out of it, and pushes back up onto his feet, dusting the dirt off his jeans and ridiculous denim vest.

“Are you…sure?” He asks, giving Jongin a sceptical look.

Jongin nods, before jumping into action to retrieve the Cheetos from his bag. He presses the bag into the other’s chest, “just take it! My roommate’s gonna be pissed if he sees me buying another bag of junk food, especially if it’s two bags.”

The guy snorts, “yeah, one of my roommates is the same.” He looks down at the bag and then back at Jongin. “so… are you like my guardian angel? Do you only intervene when Cheetos are involved? Wait, my guardian… Cheetos supplier? What are we?”

Jongin sputters, “No! I just—are you _sure_ you don’t have a concussion?”

The stranger chuckles; it’s relieving to see he’s no longer shaken up about crashing into the street, because Jongin is terrible at handling crying. “No, this old fella’s taken a beating before,” he knocks on the top of his cap with his knuckles, “I think I’m fine.”

“You should really be wearing a helmet,” Jongin remarks, feeling like he’s momentarily been possessed by the spirit of Junmyeon. “Also, your hands are bleeding. You should put band aids on if you’re going to be biking home. I’ll go get some from the 7-Eleven.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” the guy protests, “I have bandages at home. My roommates are mother hens; I bet one of them won’t even let me inside our place until he makes sure there’s no dirt on me.”

Jongin bites his lip again, “but you can’t bike properly if you’re hands are injured! You’ll make them worse, plus you need to hold the handlebars properly!” he really doesn’t want this guy to fall again; his head might not be so lucky the second time.

“Okay, Geez!” the guy exclaims, as he steps over to pick up his fallen bike. “you don’t have to pout at me like that. Let’s just go, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They walk back the two hundred yards or so the store, the sounds of the bike tires moving across the uneven pavement filling the silence, before the stranger speaks up.

“My name is Baekhyun, by the way, and uh, thank you for making sure I wasn’t dead, and also for sharing your food with me. I’m currently extremely embarrassed, but still thankful.”

When Jongin glances over the other has his head ducked down, the bill of his baseball cap obscuring his face. It’s kind of cute, Jongin thinks to himself in a very quiet voice, that the stranger, Baekhyun, is feeling embarrassed.

“N-no problem,” he responds, “Oh, and my name is Jongin.”

He leaves Baekhyun there, and promises to be back in a minute or two. Inside, Jongin finds a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a pack of band aids. He’ll have to use his card, but fuck it, it’s no big expense. He spends most of his days mooching off his roommate, so he might as well do one good deed (not to mention that he feels like he’s slightly, cosmologically at fault).

Underneath a streetlight, he cleans the gravel and dirt from Baekhyun’s palms, using the alcohol and a pack of Kleenex from his bag. It feels intimate, probably too intimate for a stranger, but Baekhyun’s skin is warm, and he doesn’t make a fuss or pull his hands away, so Jongin continues.

He places the band aids—the big, square patch ones—onto Baekhyun’s palms, and rubs his thumb over them to make sure they stick properly.

“There,” Jongin mutters, pulling his hands away. Baekhyun flexes his fingers a few times, as if confirming that his hands are still functional.

“Thanks, I guess I’m kind of in your debt now, huh?” Baekhyun grins up at Jongin, because he’s a few inches shorter, flashing sharp canines. Jongin’s stomach swoops, but he pretends that it doesn’t.

“Uh, n-no problem,” he stammers, suddenly timid. Baekhyun’s smile is too bright, way too bright for someone who literally was crying over food crumbs not fifteen minutes ago. Jongin would be better off just staring directly at the streetlight, or the sun.

The other boy chuckles as kicks up his bike stand and wheels the vehicle back over to Jongin. He swings his legs over, and presses his fingers to the handlebar, careful of his bandaged palms. “why’re you acting all shy?” he asks, only grinning wider, “come’re!”

Jongin takes half a step forward before Baekhyun leans over to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him in. Jongin squeaks as he nearly loses his balance, but he steadies himself by gripping the edge of Baekhyun’s seat, with Baekhyun’s legs hovering a few inches above as he stands on the pedals.

Baekhyun laughs at him, loudly for half a beat, before his laughter softens. Jongin can’t see the other’s face, but he does feels the gentle pressure and slight wetness and Baekhyun plants a kiss on his cheek, pulling away with an obnoxious _‘muah’_.

Jongin goes red in the face, mouth wide open. “W-w-why did you—did you _kiss_ me?”

Baekhyun leans forward, elbows on the handlebars, chin in hands. “Maybe?” he responds, blinking innocently up at Jongin, though the smirk he’s failing to suppress betrays him.

“Why?”

“It’s a thank you kiss! Don’t you know it’s better to express yourself with actions rather than words?”

Baekhyun’s tone is entirely teasing, but Jongin’s too stunned to say anything back. He doesn’t even remember to close his mouth.

“Now,” Baekhyun says, reaching around into the back pocket of his jeans, “give me your number.”

He thrusts his cracked Samsung under Jongin’s nose, open on a new contact page.

“Again…Why?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes dramatically, “because you’re cute, duh! I want to ask you on a date! You can say no, if you want. But, I mean, who can say no to all this?”

Jongin feels his face heat up again. “I thought you said that was just a thank you kiss!”

“It was!” Baekhyun reaffirms, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have other motives for wanting to kiss you, because I _do_ want to kiss you again.”

Jongin crosses his arms, and pretends to look unimpressed, but Baekhyun’s bluntness is pretty impressive, actually.

“So? Yes? No?” Baekhyun asks, voice lilting as he anticipates an answer. He continues to mouth _yes_ while nodding encouragingly as Jongin thinks of an answer.

Baekhyun he…first he stole the last bag of Cheetos, and then he nearly ran straight into Jongin on his bike…but he _did_ crash his bike, _and_ crush his bag of Cheetos, so he’s probably paid his douze and atoned sufficiently. Besides, with his blonde hair and an easy smile, he’s kind of attractive. And cute. And funny. And—okay, so Jongin also wouldn’t mind another kiss somewhere down the line.

“Yes,” Jongin says. Immediately Baekhyun perks up. “but on one condition. If we go on a date, would you be biking?”

Baekhyun raises a brow, “if we go somewhere, then probably? Why? What’s the condition?”

“You have to wear a helmet.”

Baekhyun’s entire posture sinks, and he pouts, looking very much like a scolded puppy. “Whyyyyyyy? I hate helmets, they’re ugly and always make my hair look weird when I take them off. Can’t we compromise at elbow pads? I can make elbow pads look cool!”

“No,” Jongin retorts. He’s pretty sure it’s illegal for cyclists not to wear helmets anyways. He’ll be saving Baekhyun’s skull from a concussion and his wallet from a fine. “Helmet, or no date.”

Baekhyun sinks down even further, until his forehead thumps against the handlebars. “Fine,” he sighs dejectedly, “I guess I can borrow one from Jongdae or something.”

In victory, Jongin smiles to himself, and enters his phone number into Baekhyun’s phone and saves the contact as Kim Jongin. “You know…some people find helmets pretty sexy.”

Baekhyun perks right up again like nothing’s the matter. “Oh, really?” he asks, his flirty tone a total 180 to the whining he’d just been doing.

“Yeah, not me, but I’m sure someone out there is into it.” Jongin laughs as Baekhyun pouts again. “Seriously, wear a helmet!”

“Okay, okay, I will, I promise,” Baekhyun says, taking his phone back. “I’ll see you around? Hopefully? On our super, flaming hot date?” he finishes the last question with a wink, and Jongin can’t help but giggle.

“Flaming hot? I thought we both liked Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno?” he asks.

Baekhyun’s eyes flickers to the bag in his basket. “…Touché.” Hopefully the second bag won’t meet the same fate as the first. “We’ll have a Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno date.”

“Sounds perfect!”

Baekhyun grins one last time, before he takes off and cycles away down the street, and eventually out of sight. Jongin stares at the spot where the other vanished for a few moments, trying to process if the last twenty minutes had actually been real. Who would believe that Jongin would agree to go on a date with not only a stranger, but the person who took the last bag of Cheetos?

He takes out his phone to check the time, but sees a text from an unknown number in his notifications.

_just for the record…I think ur XXTRA FLAMIN’ HOT™_

**Author's Note:**

> cbx are roommates. minseok's never there because baekchen at the best of times are a menace  
> im sorry u had to read the word cheetos so many times in a row


End file.
